Why Don't You Write Me
by DnA1
Summary: when the Immortal twins moved into their new house, little did they expect to be asked to investigate on the previous owner's past and disappearance. Neither did they know that they would meet a Cascade cop and his sidekick...
1. Why don't you write me 01

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The Menea and Thalia Chronicles by DnA

Why Don't You Write Me? 01

Disclaimer: We do not own Richie, Duncan and Methos, or any other characters borrowed from the Highlander series. We do not own Jim, or Blair or any other characters borrowed from the Sentinel series. We created several original characters for the purpose of these Menea and Thalia Chronicles, the main ones being Menea and Thalia themselves. Should you wish to borrow them, please let us know. 

Feedback should be sent to: db77@wanadoo.fr 

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Why don't you write me, 

I'm out in the jungle, 

I'm hungry to hear you.

Send me a card, 

I am waiting so hard to be near you.

Paul Simon

"Thalia!" 

It was the third time in less than one hour that her sister roared rather than called her name. She had been kneeling near a box in what they had chosen to be their office. Reluctantly, she stood up as Menea's footsteps got closer. 

"Look what your stupid house did to my favorite tee-shirt!" she said, pointing at the damaged piece of cloth. 

Thalia sighed and kneeled back down near the cardboard box. The first "emergency call" had occurred when Menea had found out that the office did not have an internet connection for her computer. Not wishing to frustrate her sister more she sent Menea up to look at what was left in the attic. In that room she would have no expectations about it's state of technology. The second one was caused by a spider in said attic. Trying to be understanding, Thalia instead asked her to clean up the kitchen. She was running out of places to send her sister, in all honesty. 

"Menea, would you stop complaining all the time?"

"And what will I do if I don't complain?" 

"How did you do it?" Thalia ground out through gritted teeth more out of politeness than interest, pointing at the tee-shirt desperate to change the subject. 

"I was checking a cupboard when a huge cockroach crawled out of it. I took a step back –" 

Thalia froze. 

"Cockroach?"

"Oh yeah," Menea answered with a Machiavellian smile. "Did I forget to mention it before?"

Take that, Menea thought. She knew her sister could deal with spiders but not with cockroaches. As Thalia often said, it was a good thing they did not have the same pet peeves and phobias, otherwise they would be in big trouble. Not to say dead. Imagine what their Chronicles would say: "They lost their heads against such and such due to a cockroach/spider emergency. They were heard saying to their opponents that they had left their house precipitately and had forgotten their swords. Their last words were: "I told you not to choose this apartment, but did you listen to me? of course not..."" Not exactly the way she wanted to be remembered. 

Both of them hated the process of moving to start their lives all over again, but they had had no choice. A month ago, they had been quietly enjoying a Sunday morning in San Francisco - it was noon and they were still in bed - when the earthquake started. It had been predicted by the city's scientists. Menea had urged her sister to leave before it was too late, but Thalia had ignored her pleas with a shrug, calling her a superstitious old woman among other things. To Thalia's credit, it was only a small earthquake, nothing in common with the big one that was supposed to destroy the town any minute now. But Menea was adamant about moving out of San Francisco. Feeling that this was a battle she would loose anyhow, Thalia had agreed on moving out. More out of passion for Stephen King's novels than anything else, they had chosen the state of Maine as their new residence. 

Because Menea wanted to stay in San Francisco a little longer to say goodbye to her girlfriend, Thalia had gone ahead and had fallen in love with this Victorian mansion near a lake. Her sister had loved it at first but now with the inconveniences of an old house so obvious, she was of course taking it out on Thalia. Oh well, Thalia was used to listening to Menea's complaints by now. In all fairness Thalia had done her fair share of complaining over the centuries and her sister had put up with it as well.

***

Except for the bugs and other minor problems the installation went well. After a couple of months they felt that the house was fit enough to have guests over. The first person to be invited was of course Methos, who they predicted would consider it his duty to poke fun of their love for old ruins and remind them that for the same price they could stay in a problem-free modern building. As they had guessed, Duncan was indeed part of the luggage... After all, why not? They could always use him to divert Methos's attention if his sarcasm became too annoying. Of course, the weekend would have been fine with only those two, but Thalia was reluctant to see the conversation turning only around Immortal questions such as who (Duncan) killed whom (Kronos/Byron), who (many people) slept with whom (even more people), and so on and so forth. The only solution was therefore to include some mortals among them. The first one on the list was easy to find: DJ, Menea's San Francisco lover. Thalia strongly suspected her sister to be in love again, but was resigned not to say or ask anything. Then, they chose to invite their friend Daniel, whom they had not seen for quite a while. Years before, they had been trapped in a dig with him and had been astonished by his intelligence. Coming from people who had known many geniuses over the centuries, this was not a mild compliment. 

"Daniel? This is Penny!" Menea said over the phone. 

"Penny?" 

She could hear the wheels in his mind click: he may be brilliant when it came to archeology, but as far as human beings were concerned it took him a while to get back on earth, especially if you called him while he was working. 

"Oh hello... sorry about..."

"You were working, weren't you? Would you prefer me to call back later?"

"Not at all I'm actually..."

He was apparently interrupted by the fall of a massive object, probably a book. 

"Whoops! ... Ah... sorry about that. What was I saying again? Oh yeah, I was thinking about calling you anyway."

"Our number changed, we moved away from San Francisco."

"Afraid of the earthquake, weren't you?"

She blushed and changed the subject. Dammit, if even he knew about her fears, where was the world going?

"Anyway... Do you want to come over for the weekend? Unless you have something else planned of course..."

As it turned out, no, he did not have anything else planned, and yes he would gladly come, with Jack, his lover. To which Thalia muttered something about everybody turning gay, and how did you want her to find a decent man when they were all either married or gay? But Menea did not pay too much attention to her soliloquy, Thalia usually went through it every other month... or every time she broke up a relationship. It was either that or getting drunk and ending up singing musicals at the top of her lungs. 

On the day they were supposed to pick them up, they received a phone call from Daniel, who explained very quickly that there had been an unexpected situation at work and that he could not join them for the weekend. Maybe some other time? Before he could apologize any more, they heard a voice behind Daniel urging him to hurry up and take a "talc". He hung up, leaving Thalia to look at the phone in a dubious way. "Talc"? What kind of job... Harassed by many images, she shrugged, convinced that Daniel would in fact spend the weekend in bed with Jack. Oh well. 

The next phone call was from DJ, saying that she had missed her flight and was taking another one. They changed their plans and agreed that Thalia would go and pick up Methos and Duncan because their flight arrived in the morning, while Menea would meet her friend alone later on. This was all for the best, Thalia thought, that would give them some alone time, and it would give her some time to warn her fellow Immortals against the fact that DJ did not know anything about them so please watch your mouth, thank you. 

At the airport, Thalia was surprised to find three Immortals at the arrival of the plane instead of the two expected. The third one was much younger... and she found him extremely attractive, although she could not trust her hormones most of the time. Shrugging, she thought that he was probably gay like any other attractive man in this stupid country. She just hoped it was not a menage à trois, otherwise she would have to seriously talk to Methos about his obvious, unfair and illegal monopoly, and would he mind leaving honest straight men alone instead of sleeping with them (although her friend had a sure taste most of the time, therefore she could not really blame it on him). Since the young Immortal seemed to be in friendly terms with the other two, she relaxed a little and waved at them - an unnecessary precaution since their respective buzzes allowed them to know exactly where the others were, but it seemed to fit in with the surrounding people. 

As they got closer, she hugged Methos, and kissed Duncan on the cheek. He introduced their friend as Richie Ryan. The young man blushed a little, apologizing: "I'm sorry to impose myself, they dragged me along," he said, passing his hand in his hair. 

Oh God, let him be straight, please.

"Nonsense," Methos said, "Menea said it was okay."

"When did you call her?"

"In the plane. Why? I knew you would say yes. Now come on, let's go."

Duncan and Richie had some trouble hiding their grins, and Methos grabbed her arm, muttering that he would explain later. She led them to the car, and it was only once they were on their way to the house that he explained what had happened. 

"We were seated in front of a nymphomaniac who almost jumped at me in the plane."

"You should have seen this! Just for once his persuasive attempts to explain that Duncan was in fact his boyfriend were useless. I think she took it as a challenge."

Methos, who was in the front seat, turned around: 

"What do you mean, you think? It isn't speculation, she actually said that she loved sex even more where there was a face up to!"

The rest of the road was spent in equal nonsense, Thalia having decided not to ask Richie too many questions, since he would have to repeat everything for Menea and DJ anyway. 

***

"You're the one who picked the house, weren't you?" Methos said to Thalia. 

"How did you guess?"

"Your sister would have wanted a more modern building with internet access in every room."

Menea had already left to meet DJ at the airport; hence Thalia was left alone to give the tour of the house. When they were done, she invited them to relax while she prepared something to eat. Duncan volunteered to help, dragging Richie and a most reluctant Methos along. 

"Honey, don't you have some harder chore for him to do?" Methos said. "I'm sure he would not mind chopping some wood or..."

"Nonsense, dear, he's a guest in this house, and you know you're the only guest I dare asking some help from... even though you usually manage to let me do it anyway."

"Sounds like Methos all right," Duncan said. 

"Oh, by the way, Menea's friend doesn't know anything about Immortals, so please don't... well, just be careful."

"Who do you think we are anyway?" Methos said. 

"Oh shut up old man, I know perfectly well you won't say anything, but... you know me..."

"Yes, I know, you are way too stressed for your own good..."

They had only just finished preparing lunch when Menea and DJ arrived. The presentations done, they all settled on the table outside, facing the lake. Once it was over, Thalia proposed a walk in the "wilderness" since the weather was so beautiful. 

"Well... I think I'll stay and... clean up everything," Menea said. 

"I'll help her," DJ said, "you know what she's capable of in a kitchen."

Thalia nodded, and turned to the three men. 

"Just the four of us, then."

"Actually..." Methos said, casting a quick glance at Duncan, who became very interested in a colony of ants.. 

"Okay, I get it. Richie? Feel like going for a walk?"

He grinned, and followed her. 

"When do you think it'll be safe to come back?" he said, once they were out of earshot. "One hour?"

She stopped, they exchanged a knowing glance, and said together: 

"All afternoon."

They laughed and headed toward the woods.

***

They did not come back until late afternoon, and then again only because Thalia felt she had to prepare dinner. She knew her sister well enough to know that she would not have thought about it. She went straight to the kitchen, took out the ingredients, rolled up her sleeves and began to cut the vegetables. Tonight, they would fight against the hamburger tyranny using French cuisine! She was determined to impress Duncan, whom Methos had described as a very good cook. Dinner was almost ready when a smiling Menea came into the kitchen. 

"Do you need help cooking?" 

"Don't you dare getting near the stove," Thalia said, throwing the vegetables in the pot. 

"Is there anything missing?" she said, opening the fridge. 

"No, we have enough beer for Methos to stay here a decade."

"Why are you saying this with such a bitter voice? When have I ever stayed when my presence wasn't wanted?"

There were a few pointed stares. Methos was about to answer when they heard a car in their driveway. Menea opened the front door to find a post office car parked there. A pimply young man got down and handed her a letter. She examined it. The address read "Mrs. Riordan"' and then their address. No return address.   


"What was it?" Thalia said. 

"Mail… Does the name Riordan ring a bell?" 

"Nope. Would you mind setting the table while I finish this?"

"Should we open it?"

Menea, more interested in the recent arrival than in domestic chores, and chose to ignore her sister. She kept turning the letter around in her hands. Methos and Duncan were arguing in a soft tone, Richie was gathering plates, and DJ was helping him with the cutlery. She settled the matter by saying:

"No way. You'll wait until the post office opens and send it back. Could we discuss this over dinner, I'm starving."

Menea, always willing to do her lover's good will, quickly went to help the setting of the table. Thalia put the letter on top of the fridge. Then, she carried away the dishes she had prepared, set them on the table and enjoyed a pleasant meal with her friends, listening to Frank Sinatra crooning on the back, the letter forgotten.

***

A few days later, Menea drove the three Immortals back to the airport. DJ should have gone too, but she had decided to stay a little longer. Thalia had not made any further inquiries, hoping that this sudden change of plans had something to do with her sister telling her of her immortality, but she refused to ask. The young mortal came down for breakfast, apologizing for getting up so late. Thalia just laughed. 

"Hey, don't worry I live with Penny. I know what getting up late is about, and believe me sleeping until 11 is nowhere near her personal record. But you know that already, don't you?" 

DJ only smiled in agreement. 

"Do you want me to fix you some breakfast? I can make you some hash browns, or pancakes, or…"

"Just cereal will be fine!"

"Nonsense, dear. I did it for our other guests; I'll do it for you. You'll get the right to get bread and water for breakfast when you become a regular part of the household, until then let me pamper you a little. We already had that conversation in San Francisco, remember?"

"Okay then, I'd love some hash browns."

"Vos désirs sont des ordres, Madame…"

DJ smiled. She just loved when the twins mixed languages. That was how she had fallen for Menea in the first place. 

"How come Penny's the one driving them? Isn't it a bit early for her?"

"We rock-paper-scissorsed. Adam wasn't too thrilled about having to get up so early, but Duncan was adamant about the fact that he had some things to do today and wouldn't hear of it."

"I bet he'll pay for that!"

"Big time... Madame est servie."

Thalia brought DJ her plate, and sat down at the breakfast boot with her mug of tea. Her guest cast her a quick glance and said:

"Whatever you have to ask, just go for it."

Thalia looked surprised. 

"How did you… You know us way too well. You know that? Why did you postpone your return?"

"Penny said she had something important to tell me. My job can wait, can't it?"

Thalia smiled and turned her head toward the window.

"Speaking of whom…. She's back"

When Menea stepped into the kitchen, she complained right away.

"I can't believe you made me do that! Those madmen you find on the road, you'd never believe!"

Menea would have gone on but DJ stood up to kiss her. That shut her up. She smiled and turned to Thalia. 

"Do you mind? I have to talk to DJ…"

"Of course not."

Thalia grabbed the teapot and the pile of unopened letters on top of the fridge, and went to the study room.

Thalia heard DJ say before she shut the door. "So, you wanted to talk to me?"

***

The study was her favorite part of the house. She had struggled with her sister, who wanted to install a wide-screen television in it, but she had won the fight and had installed a stereo instead. As a sign of protest, Menea had not installed her computer in that room, although the plug for Internet access was ready. Thalia was therefore free to listen to her music while working on her computer. She sat down on the comfy chair near the bow window, and went through the pile of unopened mail. They were bills, mostly. She cast them away and took the package that was delivered the day before. She settled back and examined it. In a gesture similar to her sister's, she bit down her bottom lip. Who was Mrs. Riordan? Where had she heard that name? Thinking it could be the last owner's name, she went through the official papers that the agency had given her. According to what Mrs. Collins, the real estate agent, had said, the house had been empty for five years. The former occupant – what was the name again? – had disappeared one night. She had had some debts and the bank seized the house. The sale had covered the debts, but the police had been unable to find the woman.

"Bingo," she said when she found what she was looking for. 

The name of the previous owner was Mrs. Riordan. Thalia had been around long enough to know when there was something fishy. This letter definitely was. She opened it and found a white card with a single name written on it: Marc Akoi. She balanced the matter in her head for a few moments, and then decided that since she had nothing else to do, she might as well get to the bottom of this affair. The first thing to do was to learn more about this Mrs. Riordan. As she passed near the kitchen, she heard some loud voices. DJ was not taking the news too well. Thalia grabbed her car keys and left the house. 

***

At the real estate agency, Mrs. Collins greeted her warmly.   
"Miss Lane, what a pleasure to see you again. You still don't care for coffee, do you? Would you care for a cup of tea?"

"I'd love some."

After some small chat about Mrs. Collins's family (her eldest daughter was having some trouble with her high school friends, but her other children where doing fine, in fact her husband was considering taking the family in Hawaii for Christmas, wasn't it a lovely idea?) Thalia asked her some questions about Mrs. Riordan. As she had expected, the agent was more than willing to talk. 

"Oh I didn't know her much, she was the quiet type. Whenever I met her she had dark circles under her eyes. You know, like someone who doesn't get enough sleep. We never found out what had happened to her. I say 'we' because in such a small town, when someone disappears there is always gossip about it. You should go and talk to Eva Miller. She always knows everything that's going on in this town. Here's her address. I should warn you that she's a bit of a loony, but…" 

Amelia, the secretary, interrupted them at that moment to remind her boss that she had a 2 o'clock appointment. Smiling nervously at Thalia, she turned around and left the office. Mrs. Collins lowered her voice and said:

"Did you know that she got herself pregnant? Not even married… poor thing…"

Thalia interrupted her by said goodbye. Eva Miller might know a lot of gossip, but Collins herself was quite a nosy as well. She would have to be careful around her. Before leaving the office, Thalia turned around and said: "Do you happen to know a Marc Akoi?"

"Akoi?" she said, after a pause. "No, that doesn't ring a bell."

"Thank you for your time, Mrs. Collins." 

***

Thalia drove to the old and shabby looking house where Eva Miller lived. The walls had once been blue, but weather had chipped the paint. An old woman was sitting on a rocking chair on the porch, rocking herself. Her eyes were white, her hands deformed by arthritis, her voice throaty. She made regular and long pauses when she spoke. 

"I was waiting for you."

A little taken aback by that comment, Thalia stopped for a second at the bottom of the steps.

"Grab a chair, the voices said I had to talk to you."

Thalia did as she was told. She was intrigued: she did not often meet true seers. That would explain Eva Miller's knowledge on gossip. 

"It's about the woman who lives with you."

"My sister?"

"No. Before that."

Thalia frowned. What did she mean?

"The one who received the letter. We knew her as Mrs. Riordan, but that wasn't her real name."

She paused. 

"She was running away."

"Running away from what?"

"Her past."

"Why?"

"You should ask her."

"Where's she?"

"In your home."

" I live there with my sister. I assure you that there's no one else in this house."

Silence.

"A ghost?"

Silence.

"A corpse? In my house?"

"It isn't your house."

"Still, living with a dead body near at hand is hardly something to…"

"Would it be the strangest thing you ever saw, priestess?"

Thalia stiffened. How much did that woman know about her past?

"Don't worry," Eva Miller said, "I never say everything I know about people living here. There would be too much problems about that. Imagine if Mrs. Collins learned that her husband had knocked her secretary up."

"What else do you know about Mrs. Riordan?"

"This is all for the moment. You need to find answers by yourself. Go now. Your sister needs you."

Feeling another question coming up, Eva Miller raised a crooked hand to silence her visitor. 

"No more questions. Go. You'll come back. I'm not going anywhere. I never am…"

"What about Marc Akoi?"

Eva Miller continued to rock her chair, ignoring the intruder. 

Thalia was perplexed about the visit to the old woman. It had raised more questions than she had expected. She was not comfortable with the idea of having a corpse living inside her walls. If there was, it would take forever to find it. 

***

Menea was in the living room, staring blankly at the lake, when Thalia arrived. 

"How did it go?" she said.

Her sister did not answer.   
"That bad, huh?"

When Menea finally spoke, she spoke slowly, clearly enunciating.   
"She's gone. Said she needed some time to think things over."

They were silent for a while. Heck, there was nothing to say, was there? Thalia decided to leave the corpse hunting for later. Instead, she headed toward the kitchen to prepare a "broken-heart-snack." When she came back with it on a tray Menea gave her sister a painful smile.

"My condition allows for me to eat junk food? Good."

She grabbed a plate and piled food on it. 

***

The next day, Thalia woke up early to search the house. Her first task was to knock on every wall to find the ones that sounded thick enough to hide a woman's body. It took her a couple of hours, and it woke Menea up. 

"What the hell are you doing? Some of us are trying to sleep here!"

Thalia was forgiven when she prepared a huge breakfast for the two of them, telling her sister about the card and her visit to Eva Miller. Menea finally asked with a careful tone:

"And how do you intend to look for this corpse without taking the house down?"

"Take down some of the wooden panels."

Menea sighed.

"Why don't you ask your Eva Miller for some further documentation instead of tearing our home apart? Like, for example, drawing a map or Marc Akoi's e-mail address? Come on Thalia, she was winding you up, that's all."

Thalia did not reply. Okay, so there was no help to be expected from Menea. Never mind, it was not the first time they disagreed. She left her sister to clean up the kitchen, and went to fetch the toolbox. The panels proved easy enough to remove, but since she wanted to do a neat job in order not to ruin the house, it took a long time. She had been working on it for several days under the silent disapproval of her sister, when DJ showed up on their doorstep with two suitcases. The following morning, the three members of the household were involved in the search. However, it proved useless. They could not find anything. 

"I think I should go back to see Eva Miller," Thalia said. 

"You do that. Meanwhile, we'll ask some questions around."

***

"We didn't find anything"

Thalia was sitting next to the old woman sipping her tea. Silence reined for a long time before Thalia spoke again, "But then again, you did not tell me to look for a dead body, did you?" Thalia frowned at her own revelation. "Still you said that she lives in my house."

The Immortal sat back to think about it. Another pause. 

"What are the voices?" Thalia finally asked. 

Eva Miller shrugged and did not answer. She rocked her chair until Thalia took her leave. 

***

DJ and Menea had no more luck collecting information than Thalia had. It turned out that Mrs. Riordan did not socialize in any way. According to the owner of the grocery store, she was always polite and all, but not very talkative, y'know? 

"Concerning Marc Akoi, no one seems to know him in any way." 

Sitting in the living room, the letter lying on the coffee table, the three women remained silent until Menea suggested that they sent a missing person notice on the internet, but Thalia had the feeling that Mrs. Riordan had wanted to keep a low profile for a reason. 

Their everyday routine settled back, and soon the Indian summer was over. By Christmas time, the letter was only a distant memory. When Groundhog Day rolled around they had totally forgotten about Mrs. Riordan. 

***

"I'm not saying it's a bad idea, love, but do you really want me to meet them?" Menea said. 

Thalia was silently witnessing the same lame argument that her sister and DJ had been having for the past few weeks, since the latter had announced her intention to introduce Menea to her parents. 

"Don't you think it'll be a bit of a shock to find out that their daughter is sharing the bed of a woman?"

"They know I'm gay."

"I think you're fighting a losing battle," Thalia said over her newspaper.

As much as she hated to admit it, her twin had to agree with it. Damn it, living with them had toughened DJ Menea could not count on DJ to just follow her lead anymore. She smiled without humor as she packed her suitcase. After all, what could be more romantic than a family dinner with her "in-laws" for Valentine's Day, huh? She had tried everything to convince DJ not to go – begging, blackmailing, and was considering locking her up for some time – but in the end she had to accept the fact that she was such a damn coward when it came to meeting her lover's parents. Being a lesbian was not as fun as it had been now that parents and family where so damn tolerant about their children's sexuality! No one said you could not be older than the Bible and still be afraid of spiders and in-laws, right? Right? 

On the morning of February 10th, DJ dragged a kicking and screaming Menea to the car, but she still did not give in. DJ was glad for Thalia's silent support though: she doubted she could have fought both sisters. Living with them had showed her that Thalia was indeed considering her as a member of the family (for instance she could not count on her to prepare pantagruelian breakfasts outside cafe-Thalia's regular opening hours) and easily took her side. 

Thalia watched them drive off, DJ at the wheel, Menea pouting on the passenger's seat, her arms crossed on her chest. Standing on the porch, Thalia sighed. Alone at last. The first thing she did was to pump up the volume of the living room stereo, where an obedient Steven Page sang that it was "a perfect time of year somewhere far away from here"…. She sang along at the top of her lungs, an exercise that Menea usually boycotted. Freedom, at last! What could she do to convince the lovers to take a long tour of Europe next summer? 

***

On the morning of February 14th, Thalia decided that there were enough piles of papers and books in her study to consider cleaning up. She was standing in front of it in an impossible attempt to come up with some Mary Poppins way to make this not as unpleasant as is seemed, when she heard a motorcycle coming up, followed by a buzz. She had not felt any Immortal around in a long time. She grabbed one of the numerous swords hidden in the house, and went to the guest's bedroom to look out of the window. When the rider took off his helmet – what kind of Immortal wears a helmet to ride a motorcycle anyway? – she recognized him as Richie Ryan – oh, right, one who grew up with road traffic safety advertisements. She came down the stairs to greet him. 

"I hope I'm not interrupting anything," he said. "I was around and I thought I would…."

"Don't worry, you're always welcome here," she said as she was hugging him. "Plus it gives me a good excuse to not clean up my office."

"Do you need some help with that?"

She narrowed her eyes in a dark glance, muttered something that sounded like "traitor" and offered him something to drink. 

"Why don't you lit a fire while I go and get it?"

She left the room immediately, therefore missed the puzzled expression on her guest's face. Me? Lit fire? You mean without a flamethrower? Oh well… He sighed, and kneeled down near the hearth. He grabbed the first log near at hand, and, trying to remember what Duncan had attempted to teach him so many times, gathered some bits of newspaper and some small wood under the log. He lit a match and set fire to it. He was pleased when the paper took fire, but his smile soon fade off when he realized that it would not last. He frowned and added more paper. How could hectare of forest burn down so easily when one single log resisted? 

When Thalia came back with a tray, he had to admit to her that he knew almost nothing about lighting a fire but would she care for him to check her car or anything? She laughed with him, explained kindly that it was no wonder the fire did not take: the log was simply too big. She advised him to take it away and replace it with a couple of smaller logs. He followed her advice and soon a roaring fire lit the room. 

"In my defense, I have to say that a radiator is a lot more easier to use," he said. 

"Don't worry about it. Now tell me, what's new with you?"

***

While Richie had only expected to pay a quick visit, he stayed more than a week. In the end, they decided that since she had to tidy her study room, he might as well help her do it. It turned out to be a rather easy task since she used a very ancient method of hers, the good ol' trash-bag filling way. It drove her sister crazy: Menea kept everything even a ticket from a subjective-camera movie she had seen, claiming that it would help her pin point the exact moment the 1990s went berserk. Richie was going through a pile of old papers when he found the envelope. 

"I see you opened it after all."

Thalia, who was filing some bank papers, looked up. He showed her the letter.

"Oh, that."

"Isn't opening other people's mail a federal offense or something?" 

"She was the previous occupant of this house and she disappeared 5 years ago. Not much chance that she's going to show up some day, is there?"

By the time they had thrown away their ninth thrash bag, Thalia decided she had had enough for the day and that she needed to eat something. Richie, who was sitting on the floor near the window agreed. As he stood up, he knocked over the vase that Bob-the-Betta shared with a plant. The water spilled on the floor, but Richie had enough reflexes to catch the blue fish before it fell in a nearby trash bag. Thalia grabbed a nearby bottle of spring water, spilled it in the vase and Bob and the plant went back to their lives. Richie took a pile of paper napkins to use as a sponge, when Thalia put a hand on his forearm. 

"Listen," she said. 

He did as he was told. 

"The water's getting under the floor." 

She nodded. 

"It means that there's an empty place there."

She dashed out of the room to get some tools. 

"Menea's probably going to kill me for this, but what the heck."

Half an hour later, they found three shoeboxes filled with envelopes. They took the boxes out of their hiding place. All the letters had been addressed to Mrs. Riordan. They contained the same white card signed Marc Akoi. Their hunger forgotten, they settled down to go through them. Finally, Richie found a different one: instead of the Marc Akoi name were the letters JMIA. They lost no time wondering what this meant when they saw a magazine lying at the bottom of the shoebox. Thalia grabbed it and read:

"'Beyond the Call: GI Survives Jungle Ordeal'."

She opened it, and it did not take her long to find out what the JMIA letters meant. 

"Check this, the GI's name was James Ellison."

***

To be continued…. 

***

Feedback: db77@wanadoo.fr 

Author's notes: thank you to my beta reader Rachelle Ryan and Terri. And thank you Alexa for creating the twins with me. 


	2. Why don't you write me 02

**__**

Why Don't You Write Me ? 02

By DnA

Disclaimer: Richie, Duncan and Methos belong to _Highlander: The Series_. Jim, Blair and the rest of the Cascade PD belongs to _The Sentinel_. We do not own any of them. We created Menea and Thalia: should you wish to borrow them, please ask us. 

***

"Check this, the GI's name was James Ellison. Missing In Action."

Richie and Thalia read the article together. Once they had finished, she said: 

"What does this have to do with Mrs. Riordan?"

He took out the letter where JMIA was written on the card. 

"We can't find her, she disappeared. Maybe we could find the person who sent this."

"We might as well…."

She sighed. 

"Maybe I'm way out of the line here, but why should we even look for that person?"

"Don't ask me, you're the one who started this investigation months ago. Why do you want to find this Mrs. Riordan so bad?" 

"It's not that I really want to find her, it's just…"

She shrugged. 

"I guess I'm bored."

"Or too curious for your own good. Since you insist, I think we should start with finding Marc Akoi. He must be still alive, since the last letter was posted less than six months ago."

He pointed at the letters. 

"How about sorting these by dates?"

"Let's discuss this over some food, I'm starving."

***

It was close to midnight when they decided they had had enough of this and went to bed. The next morning, the letters were at the same place, waiting for them to begin their filing. 

"The first letter is from July 13th, 1973…"

"Where was it posted?"

"Seattle."

"September 1973, from Paris. December, New York. March, Seattle again."

"Wait a minute."

She got up, and came back with a rolled up map of the world. 

"We need to be methodical."

They pinpointed all the locations Marc Akoi had sent the blank cards from. 

"This is useless. He sent them from all over the world. Literally. It doesn't tell us anything."

"Au contraire."

He looked up at her. 

"What do you mean?"

"He sent them from all over the world, but from big cities only. If he had been a backpacker, he would have avoided them."

"Maybe he only sent them when he was about to take a plane or something."

"Good point."

They sat on the couch, staring at the map, for some time. 

"When did the paper say that Ellison guy went missing?" Richie said. 

Thalia did not pay much attention to the question, but said:

"March 1988. He came back a year and a half later."

"Look, during that year and a half, five of the six letters were sent from Peru."

She frowned. 

"Do you think he went to look for Ellison?"

"Well, whatever he sent those letter for, we can say for sure that Ellison's linked to it. Maybe we should just call him."

She snorted.

"To tell him what? We found a magazine with your picture on it and blank cards?"

"Good point."

They both resumed their seat in the overstuffed couch. Silence. 

"Did you ever read _Needful Things_?" he said out of the blue. 

"Yes," she said, a little taken aback.

"He says that people in small towns are pretty nosy, right?"

She nodded.

"Then how come nobody knows anything about her?"

She thought in silence for a while, then said: 

"Come on, it's high time we have a little chat with Eva Maller. I have a feeling she didn't tell us everything."

"Hold on, she didn't tell you anything before, what makes you think she'll be more talkative this time? I mean, I know for a fact that you can be convincing, but let's face it. She won't talk to you."

She gave him a sideways glance. 

"I hate to admit it, but you're right. Let's find out some more information about Ellison."

***

They had to go to the Bangor public library to have access to decent media sources. They had agreed that since one magazine had made a cover with Ellison, more newspapers and magazines might have mentioned him as well. After they had explained the smiling librarian behind the main desk that they were looking for a man on whom an article had been written a long time ago, she directed them toward the microfilms room. There, they asked the person in charge of the room for some help. She directed them to a station, and before she went back to her desk, she said: 

"I would advise you to start by looking in the local newspapers, there might have been some articles welcoming that person back. You're lucky they mentioned the place where he grew up in _News Update._ If you need any help, just let me know."

They thanked her. Richie grabbed a chair and sat next to Thalia. They were chatty at first, but soon the stream of images played its hypnotic role. They forgot about time, and their surroundings, only aware of the noise from the machine and their own breaths. Their heads were so close they almost touched. The stream of images had an hypnotic effect on them. They snapped back to reality when they reached the info they were looking for. 

"Thank God he's fairly active. Look, apparently a TV show made a subject on him. Do you think we could find the tape?"

Thalia wrote down the references of the broadcast and went to ask. 

"Excuse me," she said, read the name on the desk and went on, "Patricia. I was wondering, do you happen to have a recording of that show?"

"I'll check… It's in the reserve. I'm afraid it's too late for you to view it tonight, but I can make sure to put it on the side so you can have it first thing in the morning."

"Thanks, that would really help."

***

"How can you even watch that again? You know it by heart."

"Hey, I won the remote control fair and square, man. And don't tell me you don't like _Star Wars_, I wouldn't believe you."

"I loved it the first two hundred times, but somehow their _Episode I_ took the fun out of it."

"I gave you a choice, didn't I?"

Jim winced. "A choice between _Star Wars_ and yet another documentary on Peru, I think I prefer to relax."

Blair smiled and sat back comfortably. He always did what he wanted to anyway. 

Han and Luke had only rescued Leia when the phone rang. Five minutes later, the Sentinel and his guide where on their way to a crime scene, located in a dodgy motel outside of Cascade, Sunshine Motel. 

"Would you rather not come inside, chief? I heard it was rather nasty."

"Nah, I have to get used to it sooner or later."

As they arrived, they saw two police cars and an ambulance. The only lights on the scene were the flashing headlights of those vehicles. The neon sign of the motel had been turned off. The only non-official person on the scene was a short, bald man, who was talking to an officer and did not seem too happy about being kept away from the crime scene. Jim stepped out of the truck and shook his head, trying to get his hearing back on. Blair approached him. 

"What's wrong?"

"It's like hearing things through cotton balls."

Before Blair could give him any advice, an officer came near them. 

"Hi Harris," Jim said, "how's your daughter?"

"Oh, she's perfect. She almost doesn't wake up at night anymore, but she's pushing a teeth these days. She suffers a lot, poor thing," he said very fast, smiling as any new father would when discussing his child. "I guess you didn't come to hear about babies, so here you go. We got a call while on patrol, the station sent us here."

As he spoke, he led them toward room 16.

"The guy was Timothy Rainheart, a salesman. He was the only client here tonight. The owner, De Santo, was taking the trash out when he heard some people fighting in that room. He's used to people having hookers here, so he called us; says he doesn't want his motel to become a prostitute hangout. The door was locked from the inside, we had to break in. We didn't touch anything. Now if you'll excuse me, I have to go and talk to De Santo."

He sighed.

"He keeps trying to see the corpse; I bet he's upset because he wasn't the one who found him first."

There were two forensic experts. The woman, Terri Brown, was taking pictures – a brunette with plaited hair; she had been trained by Caroline. She greeted Jim and Blair, and went back to work. Her colleague, Andre Dubois, a bulldog faced man who had just been transferred to Cascade after twenty years in New Orleans, blocked the view to the corpse. The smell of burnt flesh did not seem to bother Jim, who was too focused on his hearing problem to notice anything else. He caught a glimpse of the corpse before Blair, who had taken a step back and had covered his nose and mouth before coming forward. 

"Sandburg, wait outside."

The urgency in Jim's voice did not prevent Blair from arguing. He was midway through explaining how he had to get used to death when the forensic expert moved away. Blair frowned. What was wrong with Jim? Surely the body was destroyed, and the smell was sickening, but Blair did not feel worse than the time he had seen that girl strangled in her bathtub. Timothy Rainheart had been sitting on his bed when the 'incident' had happened. His left foot, still wearing his shoe, remained intact and only the corner of the room and the bed he had been sitting on had been burnt. The walls of the room were covered with a greasy substance, and the plastic switches had melted. 

Jim and Dubois were talking. Blair could see from the look on Jim's face that his hearing was not back on normal and that he was concentrating very hard on what the forensic expert was telling him. 

"His liver was fused to a lump of vertebrae and his skull had shrunk to the size of a baseball because of the heat."

"Could it be that he was smoking in bed?" Jim said.

"I don't know if you are familiar with it, but it takes a temperature of 2500 degrees to shrink a skull. A cigarette accidentally dropped would never have caused such a heat."

"Spontaneous combustion?" Blair said. 

Dubois shook his head.

"I ran into a case like this a few years ago in New Orleans. Most of the cases known as 'spontaneous combustion' have many common points." 

He raised his fingers while enumerating. 

"According to what I remember, it said that eighty percent of the victims are female. Most of them are overweight and/or alcoholics. The body is very badly burned but the room the body is found in is pretty much intact except for a fine layer of soot. There's a yellow, foul smelling oil surrounding the body. The torso, including the chest, abdomen and hips tend to be totally consumed, sparing portions of the extremities and the head, the clothing can also be intact. The victims were always on their own, no shouts or scream could ever be heard. The victim had usually been drinking heavily prior to the death."

"You remember all that from a case several years ago?" Blair said, an admiring glance on his face. "I did a paper on spontaneous combustion while in high-school, but can't remember half of it."

"The conditions you mentioned don't apply here," Jim said. "He wasn't overweight, there is no bottle of alcohol in this room, and some screams were heard."

"He might have screamed, but look around, it doesn't seem like he fought anything, and look at the expression on his face, he seems to be asleep."

"There was an article in the news written by someone who didn't believe in spontaneous combustion," Dubois said. "They found logical explanations to all the cases."

"How about your case in New Orleans?" Jim said. 

Dubois shrugged. 

"Murder. Concerning Rainheart, I'll analyze these samples first thing in the morning."

"Thanks," Jim said and left the room, much to Blair's astonishment. 

"What are you doing? Why don't you look around?"

Jim walked at a fast pace toward the car, sat behind the wheel, and closed his eyes. Blair climbed in and was silent for a while. Jim didn't say anything, opened his eyes and drove away. Five minutes later, at a red light, he said: 

"There was nothing unusual."

"Now that's unusual," Blair said. "Is your hearing back on?"

"Came back on as soon as we left the motel ground."

He smiled. 

"Don't worry, a good night's sleep and everything will be back to normal."

***

In the morning at breakfast, Jim seemed to have some troubles getting his frown off. After Blair had almost force fed him some solid food and had asked him for the twelfth time what was wrong, beside the Rainheart case, Jim said: 

"I had a dream about my mother. She was asking me to help her. She kept saying 'Help me, Jim, you're my only hope' in a very Princess Leia fashion."

Blair swallowed his mouthful, looking exited, and said:

"Wow, man, you know what this means, right?"

"That I watched _Star Wars_ once too many times?"

Blair ignored the comment and looked even more enthusiastic.

"It means that you should make your peace with your mother, like you did with your father!"

"Don't look so excited over this, it's not going to happen," Jim said, shoveling some scrambled eggs on his fork, avoiding Blair's eyes. 

"Why not?"

"I was twelve when I last saw her, I don't even know where she is."

Blair opened his mouth to speak, but Jim said, in a tone he was hoping would signify the end of the discussion: 

"And no, I won't ask my father."

"Why not?"

"She's a taboo subject between us. End of discussion."

Jim rose, put away the dishes and put his jacket on while Blair remained seated, a pensive look on his face. He stood up as Jim opened the door. 

"I'll see you later at the station."

Jim stepped out, and as he was about to close the door behind him, he put his head back in and said:

"And, Sandburg? Don't look for her while I'm gone."

And he left. A plate in each hand, Blair frowned, looked around the empty room and said: 

"Did anyone else hear that?… Good, me neither." 

With a satisfied smile, he finished the dishes, went to get his laptop and set off to the university. 

***

In his research on Timothy Rainheart, Jim found that he had a wife and a son. Since he was in charge of the case, he would have to contact them himself. With a heavy heart, he went to get the phone number and address of Mrs. Rainheart. She lived more than six hours away, he would not be able to meet her, he would have to announce to her that her husband was dead over the phone. 

Jim grabbed the phone, but stopped when he heard someone ask for some information on Timothy Rainheart. He turned his head and saw a young woman carrying a sleepy baby in her arms and a large blue bag on her shoulder. She was shivering but her voice was set when she spoke. She was using both hands to support her child, therefore she could not push away the lock of hair that had fallen in front of her eyes. Jim stood up and went to her. 

"I'm sorry, ma'am, but I don't know who is…." the officer said. 

"My name's Jim Ellison, Mrs. Rainheart. Why don't we step in there," he said, pointing at Simon's office, "to talk about your husband."

He opened his arm to lead her, but she stared at him and did not move. The baby, who might have been ten months old at most, whined. He was resting his head on the crook of her neck. She freed her left hand, brushed his hair, kissed his forehead and put her hand back to carry him, her gaze never leaving Jim's eyes. She raised her chin and said:

"I don't need to be pampered; I know what you're gonna say."

"Follow me, Mrs. Rainheart. I'm no expert on children, but I think we shouldn't talk about it in front of him," he said, pointing at her son, who had fallen back into slumber. 

Without a word, she followed him 

"Jenny," Jim said, waving at a nearby officer, " I need to talk to Mrs. Rainheart, could you watch the baby for her for a moment?"

"Of course," she said, smiling. "That'll be a good training for that one," she added, pointing at her round belly.

"His name is Bobby. There's a bottle for him in the bag in case he wakes up thirsty," his mother said, and she followed Jim out of the office. 

"Would you care for some coffee?" Jim asked.

"Sure."

He went to fetch two mugs of coffee and came back to his desk where she had taken out her driving license, proving that she was Paula J. Rainheart. He cast a glance at it and sat down.

"He's dead, isn't he?" 

"Yes, but…"

"I wanted to surprise him for Valentine Day. At the motel, the man said he was dead, but refused to say more."

***

Blair met Jim at the station in the afternoon, just in time to be present for his report to Simon. 

"What did you find out on Timothy Rainheart?" Simon said, rubbing the back of his neck. 

"Are you okay?" Blair asked. 

"Mind your own business, Sandburg," Simon snapped. 

"Dubois said he'll meet us later on to discuss the medical conditions. His background: Rainheart had no criminal record, not even a speed ticket; he went to church every Sunday and took part in communal activities; no drugs, no alcohol…"

"No enemies," Simon finished. 

"Exactly."

"Did he have any family, beside his wife and son?"

Jim shook his head.

"No, his parents died ten years ago. His wife said he didn't like to talk about his past life."

"Maybe there's something there."

"Well, he came from Maine; a little out of our jurisdiction, isn't it?"

"Contact the local police station, see if they'll help us."

"Okay, I'll call Middletown."

Blair, who had been quiet so far, raised his head.

"What was the name?"

"Middletown, Maine. Why? Did you write a report on it too in high school?"

"No reason."

A knock. 

"Come in," Simon said. 

Andre Dubois entered the room.

"Ah, Dubois. What caused the fire?"

"Usually in such cases…."

"Those classified as 'spontaneous combustion'?" Blair said.

"Yes, usually the victim was smoking in bed, or was found near a fire place or something. I expect Ellison has already told you that we haven't found anything like that. Also, the victims usually drank a lot of alcohol, that later on fuelled the fire. No such thing here, Rainheart didn't drink. Usually, only a small portion of the room burned down, precisely the place where the victim was."

"That was the case, wasn't it?" 

"That's my point. There was an inquiry a couple of years ago, made by scientists on some of the most famous cases of spontaneous combustion, like Mary Reeser in 1951, or Dr. Bentley in 1966, and so on and so forth. They found out that there often was a logical explanation for the fire to start, a plausible source of ignition. They mentioned that the police at the time left out some crucial evidence, like the fact that Mrs. Reeser's cigarette started the fire: the furniture burnt a lot more than the report had suggested. The floor hadn't caught fire because it was made of concrete." 

"Are you telling me," Simon said, staring at Dubois, "that you don't know what caused the fire?"

"Yes, sir."

"That could be one of the authentic case of spontaneous combustion," Blair started, "and…."

"Sandburg, stay out of this," Simon said. "Jim, what else?"

"Harris took the statement of the motel owner this morning."

"Harris?"

"He was the first officer on the scene, sir. The owner, De Santo, said that there had already been some problems in that room, the former owner had warned him when he had bought the place."

"What kind of problems?"

"I don't know yet, sir."

"What are you waiting for? And you Dubois, find me a nice, logical answer for his death, and not one of those _X-files_ theories. Dismissed." 

Jim, Blair and Dubois left Simon's office, and the forensic expert went back to his lab. 

"Gee, what's wrong with Simon?" Blair asked. "Do you think he's worried about a Valentine Day date tonight? Nah, can't be a new woman in his life, he wouldn't be so grumpy. Yet he…"

"Cut it out, I need to find some information."

Blair, frozen in the middle of a sentence, still had his hands in the air. 

"On what?"

"Sunshine Motel."

He let his hand down.

"Why investigate the motel rather than Rainheart?" 

"I'm looking for a reason why my hearing went berserk."

He resumed his animated speech.

"Oh yeah, unusual psychic activities could do that. Plus, it would explain why Rainheart died, that he was a random victim and not a chosen one."

In Harris's report, Jim found the name of the previous owner, Peter Peterson, who had retired in 1991 and had moved in a retirement home in Cascade. Jim had no problem finding him, the man had had his driving license taken away a couple of months before: he had driven without his glasses on, and had not seen a red light. There had been no accident, but since the scene had taken place right in front of a police car, he was stopped nonetheless. Jim called the retirement home, and asked for Mr. Peterson. Once Jim had mentioned the purpose of his call, the old man said: 

"So, you want to know about room 16, don't you?"

His voice indicated that he was the kind of man who laughed often.

"Could you tell me what you remember about it?"

"There was an investigation, so I guess you could find some more details in your files, but okay. It was in 1973 – I remember the year because that was two months after my first grandchild was born. The guy had been there for a while, you know. Gess, that was his name."

"You remember his name?"

The old man laughed. 

"I'm here because I need medical surveillance, not because of Alzheimer. He was the first and only client who died in my motel, of course I remember. Strange stuff too. He was found in the bathtub. He had burnt down. The shower curtain had caught fire, but that was the only thing that had. Another client smelled something wrong, he called me and I arrived with a fire extinguisher. It was too late, Gess was dead. The police didn't tell me much on what happened. I guess they didn't know."

"Thank you Mr. Peterson."

"Officer Ellison? Did someone else die there?"

There was no laughter in his voice, only sorrow.

"Yes, but I'm afraid I can't say more. If you remember anything else, let me know."

"I will. Goodbye and good luck."

Jim hung up, filled Blair in with the details, and went back to his computer, but could not find anything on Gess. 

"Let's go to the archives," Jim said. 

"I think I'll pass. I have some stuff to prepare for a class tomorrow."

"Okay, I'll see you at home then."

***

It was close to midnight when Jim came back, and found Blair working on his laptop. 

"Did you find anything?" he asked, still typing. 

"Gess was from Middletown, Maine," Jim said, sitting on the couch. 

Blair looked up and swallowed hard. 

"Like Rainheart?"

"Yes."

Jim looked up.

"What's wrong, chief?"

Blair's hands were sending some 'calm down' signals.

"Huh… don't get mad at me, okay? I was just trying to help you out."

Jim rolled his eyes.

"Huh oh, what did you do this time?"

Blair got up and went to sit on the armchair.

"I found your birth certificate. I was looking for your mother, see, and I thought that her maiden name would be on it. It was, so I asked a couple of questions around, and…"

He did not know where to look for inspiration, and his hands got still. 

"And…" Jim prompted. 

Blair sighed.

"Grace Patterson, born in Middletown, Maine."

Silence. Jim rested his head on the back of the couch.

"I told you not to look for her, didn't I?"

Blair looked uncomfortable, and asked softly.

"Jim, when did she disappear?"

Jim shrugged. 

"I don't know… I was twelve."

"So that would be 1973."

They exchanged a look. 

"Oh boy."

Silence. 

"You need to ask your father if…"

"No."

"But Jim, he must know…"

"No."

Blair sighed. 

"All right then, ask Simon for a leave, you won't settle anything from Cascade. We need to go there. Look, there are just too many coincidences. First, your dream. Then all the clues leading to Maine. Of course we could go a lot faster if you just asked your father for some information, but since you refuse to do so, let's go there. What if she's still alive, man, wouldn't you want to talk to her?"

"I appreciate the concern, but may I remind you that she left? What if she didn't want me to find her?"

"What about your dream?"

"That was just a dream, not a cry for help."

"Says who?"

Jim had nothing to answer to that. He had learned long ago to recognize when he had lost a battle with Blair, and now was the time for him to quit. 

"I'll think about it tonight."

"There's something else you're not telling me, isn't there?"

Jim did not answer that and went to bed, leaving Blair in the living room.

***

"Too bad he's not Immortal, we could find some useful character info in that database," Richie said.

He was sitting on the floor, his back resting against the couch, Menea's laptop in front of him. Thalia was on the couch, her legs up on the coffee table. She was staring at the ceiling and playing with a slinky. 

"How about I pretend to be his long lost cousin and…."

"Yeah, and while you're at it, maybe you could ask him to get rid of my speed tickets, I tend to get a lot of them."

"Be serious Richie. He could get rid of your Cascade tickets, not much more."

"Yeah, not worth it."

Silence. 

"Oh come on," he said, "we've been looking for ways to contact Ellison subtly for three days now. Duncan would just have gone there and talked to the guy."

"Yeah well, I'm not Duncan."

"Thank God."

Silence. 

"So this is what Immortal boredom looks like, huh?"

"Oh shut up," she said, throwing one end of the slinky at him. 

Silence. 

"Okay, let's flip a coin: tails we forget about it, head we go to Cascade. Do you have some change?"

He rummaged in his pockets and took out a quarter. She threw it in the air as the doorbell rang. She swore, grabbed the coin, and went to open the door. 

"Hey, wait, which is it?" Richie called after her. 

She pushed away a pair of boots, cast a quick glance at the mirror to make sure she was presentable, and opened the door. The tallest man of the two said:

"Miss Lane? My name's Jim Ellison. Could we talk to you?"

***

to be continued…

***

Author's notes: The spontaneous combustion cases I mentioned were real, I did not create either Dr. Bentley or Mrs. Reeser. The article denying that these were spontaneous combustion cases was published in _Santa Monica News_, written by Al Seckel, and the investigation was led by Dr. Joe Nickell, Dr. John Fisher and a private detective. I took some liberties for the stories purpose on the interpretation of the results, but most of the basic information on spontaneous combustion are true. 

I also wanted to thank my beta-reader Terri, the best ever! And thank you Alex for creating the twins with me. 

Should you wish to join our mailing list, please send a mail to The_Menea_and_Thalia_Chronicles-suscribe@yahoogroups.com 

Dorothee


	3. Why don't you write me 03

**__**

Why don't you write me? 03

By DnA

Disclaimer: Richie, Duncan and Methos belong to _Highlander: The Series_. Jim, Blair and other characters belong to _The Sentinel_. I do not own any of them. Menea and Thalia are original characters: should you wish to borrow them, please ask. 

***

"Miss Lane? My name's Jim Ellison. Could we talk to you?"

He showed her his Detective's shield. Thalia blinked and raised her eyebrows in astonishment. She cast a quick glance at her fist – she was still holding the quarter. She opened her hand, and on her palm showed a head. She smiled at them. 

"Please come in."

She moved out of the way to let Jim and Blair enter the house.

"Oh, I'm Blair Sandburg by the way," he said, shaking her hand. 

"Nice to meet you." 

Thalia led them to the living room, where Richie was still on the floor, his head resting on the couch. 

"So, what was it? Heads or tails?" he asked, without moving. 

"Heads. Richie, this is Jim Ellison and Blair Sandburg. This is Richie Ryan."

Richie looked surprised, and quickly stood up to greet them. 'talk about Irish luck,' he thought. 

"Make yourselves comfortable, I'll go and make some tea and coffee. Or would you rather have something else?" Thalia said. 

"I'll have some coffee," Jim said. 

"Me too," Blair said. 

"I'll come and help you," Richie said, and he followed her out of the room. 

Once they were in the kitchen, he leaned on one of the cupboards and said,

"What's he doing here?"

Putting the kettle on the stove, she said in her best sarcastic voice, 

"Of course I know, I just stopped time and had a long chat with them."

She pushed him gently aside from the drawers to take out the spoons. 

"How would I know?" she said. "Being a seer doesn't come with age, you know." 

She turned the coffee machine on.

"Now I'm getting disillusioned," he said. 

He resumed his place against the drawers. 

"Good thing we left the magazine in your office upstairs," he said. 

She shrugged.

"It's not like we had planed on hiding the truth, is it? Grab the mugs, will you?"

"Which ones?"

She stared at him. 

"Since when am I a maniac when it comes to mugs?" 

He stared back.

"Since Methos broke your favorite one."

She growled. 

"Let's not mention that again." 

She put the tealeaves in the pot. 

"Anyway," she said, lowering her voice, "I thought that past a certain age, like, I don't know, your first millenium, you could take a cup of coffee in your room without destroying it." 

"Yeah, I wonder what they did with it." 

She handed him the tray and said, 

"None of them told me, so that's one of their many secrets that will take me forever to discover"

He took the tray. 

"Now come on," she said, "let's go and find out what this Mr. Ellison wants."

He gave a slight bow.

"Lead the way, ma'am."

She nodded and held the door open for him. 

***

"Miss Lane, since when have you been living in Middletown?" Jim asked. 

Jim and Blair were sitting on one couch, and Richie and Thalia were on the other couch. The tray lay on the coffee table, the four cups filled with hot liquids. Jim was bent forward, his elbows resting on his knees, his hands joined. Thalia was sitting with her legs crossed, a pillow on her knees, her hands resting on top of it. 

"I arrived in September."

"Did you meet the former inhabitants of this house?"

"No, the transaction was accomplished via the real estate agency."

Richie got up to put another log in the fire – he had gotten quite good with building fires now. 

"Do you know the Rainheart family?" 

"Not at all. May I ask you why you want to know?"

Jim cast a glance at Blair, who looked back, but said nothing. 

"We belong to the Cascade Police Department. Two people died at the same place, more than twenty-five years apart. Both of them came from Middletown." 

Thalia shrugged.

"How is this connected to my house?"

"One of them, Timothy Rainheart, grew up here. I thought that maybe you would have known his family, or did they leave some belongings behind them." 

She shook her head. 

"As I said, I bought it through the real estate agent, Mrs. Collins. The house was empty when I moved in." 

Blair looked around the room. 

"You redecorated it, didn't you?" he asked. 

Thalia smiled. 

"Most of the rooms, yes. But some of the bedrooms upstairs still have their original paper. The house had been left uninhabited for several years, or so it seemed. With the lake so close, humidity can ruin a house rapidly if you don't heat it regularly." 

She had spoken fast, with a smile, and for the first time since the questions had began, her hands become agitated. Blair smiled: she enjoyed that house very much, and it showed. He suspected she was the kind of person who could show passion when she found something she thought was worth it. Her hands fell back flat on the cushion. 

"I'm sorry I can't help you more. All I know is the name of the previous owner of the house, Mrs. Riordan."

Jim looked surprised. 

"Mrs. Riordan?"

"Yes. Didn't you…"

She frowned. 

"How did you find the house anyway?" 

"We checked through the police archives for the driving licenses. When he passed his driving test, Timothy Rainheart was living here. I had never heard the name of Mrs. Riordan before."

She relaxed. 

"Maybe you should go check with Mrs. Collins. She's talkative and will help you if you need anything." 

"She's the real estate agent, isn't she?" Jim said. 

She nodded and gave him the address of the agency. She also told them that it was probably still open at that time. Blair and Jim thanked her for her help. Thalia and Richie showed them to the door. 

"Feel free to come back if you need anything," she said as the two men walked to their car. 

Jim turned back and smiled. 

"We will. Thank you for your help," he said. 

He opened the car door and stopped. He looked at the old house. Its Victorian appearance. The bow windows. The porch. The woman standing under the porch, her arms folded on her chest. The man leaning against the doorframe. For a second, two images were superimposed. Thalia and Richie where there, but no longer dressed in their late nineteen nineties fashion. They were wearing mid nineteenth century clothes. Next to his ear, he heard a whisper. A woman's voice whispered 'Jim'. He turned his head, but there was nothing. Jim closed his eyes for a second. When he opened them again, Thalia and Richie were back to their normal selves. 

"Jim? Do you want me to drive?" Blair asked. 

His guide was next to him, and Jim knew he had just zoned out. 

"No... No, I'll be fine," Jim, said. 

They got in the car and drove away. 

***

"What's the matter with him?" Richie said. 

He and Thalia had watched the car moving away in silence. She frowned and said, 

"I don't know." 

She turned around and went in the house. 

"But he'll be back." 

"So what do we do?" he said. 

He closed the door behind him. She went toward the living room. 

"I don't know yet. Let's wait for them to find some things out."

"You want to help him?" 

"Hey, the coin said 'head', right?" 

She put everything back on the tray. 

"Which meant we were going to Cascade, remember?" he said. 

"Cascade came to us. Why bother?" 

He held the door open as she came with the tray. 

"Why didn't you tell him about the magazine?"

She put the tray near the sink and started putting everything away. 

"I don't know if he's ready to hear it. And we still have the small question of: how do we tell him that? What's the big deal?"" 

Richie shrugged, turned on the kitchen radio and helped her with the dishes. 

***

"Mrs. Collins? I'm Jim Ellison, and this is Blair Sandburg. We were told by Miss Daria Lane that you could help us."

The cheerful woman smiled. 

"Well certainly!"

She was seated behind her desk, and stood up to welcome them. 

"Please come in. What are you looking for?"

The three of them sat down. Jim smiled and said, 

"I'm afraid we're not looking for a house but for some information. Do you know the Rainheart family?"

Her smile faded. 

"Oh yes. Terrible tragedy." 

Jim frowned. 

"You heard about Timothy Rainheart's death?"

"Of course. The whole town went to their funeral. Such a terrible accident."

"I'm sorry, but the funeral was held yesterday, on the West Coast," Blair said. 

She looked surprised. 

"Yesterday?"

She smiled and relaxed. 

"Then we're not talking about the same Tim Rainheart. He and his family died and were buried a long time ago. Tim and I lived in the same street, you see, so I knew him very well. It was such a shock for all of us when it happened." 

"May I ask you how he died?" Jim asked. 

She looked nervous and started twisting her hands. 

"Remember that I was quite young, I didn't get all the details. All I know is that one-day he was laughing with us after school and then the next day, his family and him were dead. Both his parents and his sister." 

"When did it happen?" 

She thought for a moment. 

"That was in 1971."

"Would you have a picture of him, maybe in your school yearbook, or something?" 

She giggled. 

"Tim and I were not in the same class! He was twenty-five when he died."

She thought for a moment and said, 

"Hang on, I'll call my friend Janet, she was in the same year, she might still have it." 

She grabbed the phone and used the speed dial. 

"Janet? Hi, it's me… Yeah, I'm fine… Huh hu… No… No, he's on a business trip… that's not why I called: listen, do you happen to have you high school yearbook?… Great! Could you fax me the page with Tim Rainheart's picture?… Did he? No way! The stuff kids come up with sometimes… yes… Thanks, that would be great! Bye bye, hun… All right…. see you soon then! Bye!" 

She hung up and smiled.

"Her fax machine's out of order – her son tried to send a slice of pizza to his father who was working late. Janet only lives five minutes away, she's bringing the yearbook now." 

"Do you want us to come back?" Blair said. "If you have some work to do…"

"Actually, I have some paperwork to do, but I have to send it from my secretary's machine – she's away for the week, to see her family. Why don't you stay here?"

She got up, and they did the same. 

"Thank you, that's very nice of you," Jim said. 

She left the room. They sat back. 

"What do you think, Jim?" 

"Two guys named Timothy Rainheart in the same small town, that's too much of a coincidence."

"Ours was under thirty, though." 

Jim shook his head. 

"There's something fishy here. I just can't figure out what it is."

Silence. 

"What did you think about Daria Lane and Richie Ryan?" Jim asked; 

"They seem nice enough, why?"

Jim winced.

"There was something… something different in that house, and I can't figure out if it came from them or from the house itself." 

"Maybe there were some death in there, or…"

Blair was interrupted by Mrs. Collins, who came back in the office, followed by a tall woman whom she introduced as Mrs. Andrews. Janet Andrews smiled and handed out the book. A blue post-it marked the page. 

"I guess you were looking for this."

Jim opened the book. Blair leaned toward him, and he saw the picture. A seventeen years old Timothy Rainheart. The same man who had been burned to death in a motel room in Cascade. The same man that Jim and Blair had seen. The same man who had been twenty-nine last November. Jim and Blair exchanged a puzzled look. 

"Mrs. Collins, may I ask you how the Rainheart family died?" 

Mrs. Andrews said, 

"They were killed. I was older than Marie here, so I remember better than she does. Tim had been shot in the head and was dead before the car caught fire. His parents and his sister were knocked out when they died, or so my father said."

"He was our sheriff," Mrs. Collins said. 

"Could we check the police reports?" Jim asked. 

Mrs. Andrews shook her head. 

"Our archives were destroyed two years ago. A kid blew up a block. No one was hurt, thank heavens!" 

"How long had the Rainheart family been living in Miss Lane's house?" Jim said. 

"It had been in Mrs. Rainheart's family for generations." 

"Who inherited it?" 

"Mrs. Rainheart's sister, Mrs. Riordan." 

"And that Mrs. Riordan did not have a heir to pass this house to?"

"No. She was a very secretive woman, you know. I didn't know her much, even though she lived here for a long time. She came to Middletown after her sister's death." 

"Did she grow up here?" 

"I would expect it. She probably grew up in that same house." 

"What was Mrs. Riordan's name?"

"Her maiden name, you mean?" Mrs. Collins asked. 

Jim nodded. She frowned again, searching for the name. Mrs. Andrews said, 

"Blanche. Yes, I remember because her sister was name Rose, and it used to make me laugh when I learned French, because it means pink and white. Blanche Bradford." 

"You said she grew up here and then came back at her sister's death. Do you know where she had gone in the mean time?" 

"Well, it was the sixties you know. I never asked her, but there were some rumors. You know… that she went to live in a hippies community… But we never asked her. Even though this is a small town, we respect people's privacy, you know." 

Mrs. Andrews cast her a sideways glance. Jim caught it and said, 

"Do you know something else, Mrs. Andrews?"

She sighed and said, 

"Only what my father told me. Blanche ran away, you see, and the police searched for her for a long time. We all thought she was dead, until she showed up to inherit her sister's house and money. If she had lived in a community, some of her friends would have visited her." 

Mrs. Collins turned toward her friend. 

"Then where has she been all these years? And where was her husband? If she became Mrs. Riordan, then there must be a Mr. Riordan." 

"I don't know, Marie, but I doubt hippies got married."

Blair nodded in agreement, but refrained from any comments on his personal experience in the hippie communities his mother had dragged him to as a child. Mrs. Andrews turned to Jim. 

"I'm afraid I don't remember much more." 

"Another question. Do you remember anything about a R. M. Gess?"

Both women frowned. 

"Gess?" Mrs. Collins repeated. "No, that doesn't ring a bell." 

Jim stood up. 

"One more question," Blair said. "Do you know Grace Patterson?" 

He received one more negative answer. 

"Thanks to both of you, you've been very helpful." 

"You're welcome," Mrs. Collins said. 

Blair and Jim bid them goodbye and left the room as the phone on Mrs. Collins's desk rang. They walked out but soon they heard Mrs. Collins calling after them. She caught up and said, 

"I just remembered: Miss Lane came to me one day because she had found some old papers in the house. I can't remember if they belonged to Mrs. Rainheart or to Mrs. Riordan, though. Miss Lane must still have them." 

She took leave and went back to her agency. Blair frowned. 

"Daria Lane didn't mention any papers, did she?" 

"No, she didn't." 

"That must be the fishy thing you felt. Man, your Sentinel abilities must really be getting stronger if you can feel people lying to you!" 

Jim laughed at his friend's increasing excitement – it was the same whenever Sentinel related subjects were mentioned. 

"Come on, Chief, let's go back there.".

"Yeah, and don't forget to be especially attentive to what you…"

Jim smiled, opened the car door and stopped. He stared at Blair over the car hood and said, 

"Blair, drop the full Guide mode, will you?" 

They both got in the car, Blair arguing that he was supposed to be doing that, and many other things that Jim heard but did not listen to – a talent very useful when living with Blair. 

***

"Detective Ellison? Please come in," Thalia said, moving away from the doorframe to let them in. "What can I do for you?" 

"We just talked to Mrs. Collins, and she told us that you had found some old papers belonging either to the Rainheart family or to Mrs. Riordan." 

Thalia looked surprised. 

"We would like to see them, if you still have them." 

"Yes, as a matter of fact, I still do. Follow me, please."

She led them back to the living room. 

"It's tea time. Make yourselves at home, I'll be right back." 

Leaving them, she went to look for Richie, who was taking a nap upstairs. She gently woke him up, and explained the situation to him. He sat up and rubbed his eyes. 

"Did you mention the letters to that Collins woman?" he said. 

She shook her head. 

"No, that's the point. Come on, I have to make some tea and coffee." 

He got up and said, 

"You know, you might want to change what you give your guests." 

She shrugged and said, 

"It won't be the same kind of coffee, nor the same tea, so there!"

***

When Thalia and Richie came back in the living room, Blair was sitting on the couch, looking agitated, and Jim was standing up. He was going through the _News Update _magazine. When she saw that, Thalia cussed herself for forgetting to put them away, but then again she was not expecting them to come back so soon. Blair turned his head when the two Immortals entered the room, his mouth open, his hands frozen in the middle of a sentence. He looked away and sat further back on the couch. Richie put the tray on the coffee table, while she sat on the other couch, facing Blair. 

"We've found this in our house," Thalia said.. I guess it's better if we play fair game here." 

Jim stared at her above the magazine. He focused on her pulse. She was calm. He relaxed a little. She poured some coffee, and handed it out to Blair. 

"It's French coffee, so if it's too strong, feel free to add some water," she said. 

"Not at all, I love it, it reminds me so much of my…." Blair started. 

Jim came to sit next to him and cast him a warning glance. 

"Huh… maybe later," Blair said. 

Thalia smiled and handed Jim his coffee. Richie helped himself, and she grabbed her mug of tea. She sat back and said, 

"How about I start with my story? My sister and I bought this house a few months ago. In September we received a letter addressed to Mrs. Riordan. I opened it by accident, and there was nothing in it but a blank card with a name on it."

"What was the name?" Jim asked.

"Marc Akoi. Does it ring a bell?" Thalia said.

"No. Please go on."

"We put it aside and forgot about it until a few days ago. While cleaning up my office, Richie and I found a box of letters, all the same: a blank card with the name. I asked Mrs. Collins who was Mrs. Riordan, but she couldn't tell me much, other than she arrived in the seventies and disappeared one day."

She took a sip at her tea and added, 

"And I didn't mention the letters to her." 

She put the mug on the console table next to her. 

"That's when you come in: on one of the letters was added 'JMIA'. We also found this magazine. We tried to look for your name in newspapers, found out that you were a cop in Cascade. We were discussing whether or not to contact you when you knocked on our door." 

She opened her hands. 

"Voilà."

Silence. 

"Why did you start looking for me in the fist place?" Jim asked. 

Richie laughed. Thalia looked puzzled. She seemed to be looking on how to phrase her answer. 

"Well it's not… I didn't actually… I don't…" she stammered. 

"She was bored," Richie said. "She needs to go on vacation,' he added in a stage whisper. 

Blair burst out laughing, along with Richie and Thalia. Jim relaxed and joined in. 

"Now, what's your excuse?"' Thalia said, trying to regain her serene pose – and failing. 

Jim, smiling, told them about Timothy Rainheart and Gess, how they had both died in the same motel, and both came from Middletown, Maine. He also mentioned the circumstances of their deaths and what they had learned at the real estate agency. Richie frowned. 

"And you were allowed to come here to finish the inquiry? That's not your jurisdiction."

"We took a sick leave," Jim said, staring at Richie. 

Richie stared back. 

"Man, you sure are dedicated to your job."

Jim broke eye contact and cast a quick glance at Blair, who nodded a silent encouragement. Jim sighed. 

"There's a more personal reason for me to come here, but I don't think that concerns you."

Silence. Richie and Thalia waited for Jim to talk.

Jim cast another glance at Blair, who raised his hands and said, 

"You're on your own, man."

Blair got up and walked around the room, looking at the view and at the decoration. 

"My mother came from Middletown as well."

"To come back to the papers," Richie said, " we found the magazine with a stock of letters." 

"Are those the letters?" Blair said, pointing at the box on the window seat. 

"Yes. Feel free to look through them. Bring them over if you want."

Blair picked up the box and put it on the coffee table. On top the letters was the one with "JMIA" and the one that Menea had found in the mailbox. Jim opened both of them, and several others. 

"Is there something wrong, Jim?" Blair said. 

Jim took a moment to answer. 

"I know that handwriting."

He stood up and went to the window. He folded his arms, stared outside and said,

"It's my father's." 

They were silent for several minutes, until Blair could not take it anymore. 

"Now, will you call him?" 

"No." 

Blair sounded like an adult trying to convince a toddler to eat his vegetables when the said toddler had just learned a new word, "no". Except that the adult in this scene was a head shorter then the said toddler. 

"This can't be a coincidence."

"No." 

"This is insane! Just because you're too proud to talk to him about your mother doesn't mean that you should turn away from a valuable source of information, man!"

"It has nothing to do with pride."

Jim did not move an inch. The tension in the room was rising. Richie was no seer, but he could feel that Jim was very much like Duncan: able to shut himself from the world when something hurtful was happening. Richie knew that no matter what Blair said or did, nothing would make the cop move until Jim himself felt he was ready for it. Richie turned his attention on Blair, who was trying with a great many gestures to convince his friend to give a phone call. Even without listening to the actual conversation, their movements made it easy to follow. Richie then looked at Thalia, who, far from ignoring this agitation, was staring at them and looking annoyed. She turned her head away from the two men, touched Richie and indicated the door with a head movement. She stood up and left the room without a word, followed by her friend. 

***

Richie and Thalia went to sit in the kitchen. He looked around and frowned. 

"Is it just me or do we spend a lot of time in the kitchen?" 

She stared at him and went thought all the possible answers to that remark. She shook her head. 

"Nah, I won't comment on that."

She sat at the table. He did the same. 

"Oh come on, you know you want to," he said. 

She smiled. 

"Then how about…."

She was interrupted by the phone. 

"Saved by the bell," she said, smiling. 

She got up to answer the phone. 

"Hello?"

"Hey, it's me," said the caller, whom Thalia recognized as Menea. 

"Hey, my beloved sister! Are you yet living?"

"Ah ah," Menea said without humor. 

Thalia cleared away a part of the counter and sat on it, playing with the line of the telephone as she spoke. 

"No, seriously, how's it going?" she said. 

"Well, you know how some people say it can be very romantic to spend Valentine's Day with your in-laws? They're wrong." 

"Why, don't they like you?"

"Oh they adore me, that's the problem. DJ and I have not had a single moment since we got here."

Thalia laughed. 

"What's going on?" Richie asked. 

"DJ's parents love my sister," Thalia said to him. 

"Yeah, laugh all you want," Menea said. "Hold on, who're you talking to?"

"Richie."

"Oh. What's he doing here?"

"Visiting," Thalia said. 

"And since when has he been visiting?" Menea said, her voice no longer whiny. 

Thalia ignored the question and said, 

"So your in-laws are driving you nuts, huh?" 

"No, they're really nice people. Both very active actually." 

Menea yawned. 

"Don't tell me they got you that tired!" Thalia said. 

"It's just that the couch isn't great."

Too stunned to say anything, Thalia laughed. 

"Yep, DJ got her bedroom, and I got the couch." 

Richie got near her, and mouthed 'what's going on?' Putting her hand over the phone, Thalia explained everything in a whisper. She motioned him to come closer. He sat next to her and she held the phone between them. 

".. and then her father woke me up at 6 a.m. when he let the dog out in the house, and the stupid thing licked my face and wouldn't let me alone until I played with him. Then DJ's mother came down, and saw that I was awake, so she fixed breakfast, it would have been rude to go back to sleep. Menea sighed. Thalia, I'm in hell, save me!" 

"Sorry, no can do," Thalia said, laughing. "And how's DJ?"

Menea snorted. 

"She met her high-school sweetheart four days ago, hence the couch." 

Silence. 

"Are you going to explain that or do I have to fill in the blanks?" Thalia said. "Isn't she nice?"

Menea's voice was cold. 

"Her high-school sweetheart's a guy."

"And a damn gorgeous one. Looks a lot like your Eric by the way."

Richie mouthed 'who's Eric?' Thalia pushed the question away with a wave of her hand. 

"So you got jealous?" Thalia said. 

"Of course I did! You should have seen them, giggling, and laughing, and touching, and… and she didn't introduce me to him as her girlfriend but just as a friend!" 

She had spoken very fast, and sounded angry. 

"Are you calling me from DJ's house?"

"No. Cell phone. I'm in the car." 

Silence. Richie and Thalia exchanged a glance. She motioned him not to move. 

"Listen, don't get any wrong ideas, okay? They're just friends, and…."

Menea sighed. There was the signal of a second call. 

"Okay," Menea said, "I'll call you back, it's DJ's mom. Bye."

And without further ado, she hung up. 

***

Thalia and Richie did not say anything, until he asked,

"Who's Eric?" 

She smiled and said, 

"No one. Come on, let's go back to the…"

There was a knock on the door, and Blair came in. He made a gesture in the general direction of the living room and said, 

"Huh… sorry about that."

He passed his hand on his hair. 

"He can be very stubborn sometimes." 

"Don't worry," Thalia said. "What does he want to do?"

"He's still thinking about it."

Richie got down from the cabinet and opened the fridge. 

"Do you want to drink something?" he said. 

He grabbed two cans of Sprite, tossed one to Thalia, and turned back to Blair. 

"Yeah, sure," Blair said. 

Richie took a third one and went to sit with them at the table.

"His mother left when he was twelve," Blair explained. "That's why she's a taboo subject between his father and him." 

"But he has some memories from her, hasn't he?" Thalia said. 

She took a sip at her drink and waited for the answer. She watched Blair frown slightly. He put his elbow on the table and rested his chin on his left hand. He started chewing on his bottom lip and drumming his fingers on the table. After a while, he said, 

"You know, this has happened before, that he had buried some memories. We used hypnosis, and he…"

"It's not the same. She's not dead, is she?" 

They all turned their head toward Jim. None of them had heard him coming in the kitchen. 

"We're here to find some things out about Rainheart and Gess, and we'll focus on that." 

Blair knew that the tone Jim had just used meant 'end of discussion'. For once, Blair did not cross the line. Jim went to sit with them. 

"So, basically," Richie said, "we have a dead guy whom nobody knows here, a guy who died twice over the past thirty years, a nosy real estate agent who knows more than what she told Daria, your father writing to a woman for over twenty years, and a missing mother. Did I leave anything or anyone out?" 

"Yep, you forgot the strange heir who reappeared," Blair said. 

"Damn it," Richie said, snapping his finger, "I was this close." 

He got up to turn the radio on. There were only commercials, so he played the CD that was on the machine. They were all silent, each of them withdrawn in their own thoughts. 

"Maybe Timothy Rainheart had a son who looked like him," Blair said. "If he was twenty-five when he died in 1971, then it's a possibility." 

"The police archives said that our Rainheart passed his driving test in Middletown. People here would remember him," Jim said. 

"But we know thanks to Mrs. Collins that people here are quite selective concerning what they know or not," Richie said. 

"And why didn't my father write proper letters?"

"And why did he mention that you had disappeared?" Blair said. "I mean…"

"Look, this discussion isn't going anywhere. How about we have a nice dinner.. Where are you two staying anyway?" Thalia asked. "I have several guest rooms, you're more than welcome to stay." 

Jim and Blair exchanged a quick glance and accepted the invitation. 

"How about we write down a chronology of the events?" Blair said. "I'm a visual person, that would help." 

"I'll get you some paper," Thalia said. 

She came back with a block and some pens. As she walked by the radio, she froze. 

"What's wrong?" Richie asked, watching her over his drink

"Stick around, I'll be right back, " she said and left the room again. 

"Okaaay…. What was that about?" Blair asked. 

Richie shrugged. 

"How would I know? She wasn't delivered with a user's manual." 

Thalia came back with a CD case. 

"Listen," she said. 

On the CD that was playing, she put the previous song on, and turned up the volume. She took out the booklet, found a page, and handed it over to Jim. Simon and Garfunkel sang: 

__

He was A Most Peculiar Man. 

That's what Mrs. Riordan said and she should know;

She lived upstairs from him

She said he was A Most Peculiar Man.

He was A Most Peculiar Man. 

He lived all alone within a house, 

Within a room, within himself, 

A Most Peculiar Man. 

He had no friends, he seldom spoke

And no one in turn ever spoke to him, 

"Cause he wasn't friendly and he didn't care

And he wasn't like them. 

Oh no! he was A Most Peculiar Man. 

He died last Saturday. 

He turned on the gas and he went to sleep

With the windows closed so that he'd never wake up

To the silent world and his tiny room; 

And Mrs. Riordan says he has a brother somewhere

Who should be notified soon. 

And all the people said, "What a shame that he's dead, 

But wasn't he A Most Peculiar Man!" 

"Mrs. Riordan…" Jim muttered. 

"Do you think there's a connection?" Blair asked. 

"I thought you didn't believe in coincidences?" Thalia said. 

***

to be continued… 

Author's notes: The song "A Most Peculiar Man' was written in 1965 by Paul Simon, and appeared on the album "Sounds of Silence" of Simon and Garfunkel. 


End file.
